


silentium

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: "Speak not, lie hidden, and concealthe way you dream, the things you feel.Deep in your spirits let them riseakin to stars in crystal skiesthat set before the night is blurred:delight in them and speak no word."-- Fyodor Tyutchev, SilentiumA series written forViktor Week 2017!





	1. day one - food

Yuuri learns after just a week of living in Russia that leaving Viktor alone in the kitchen is a very, very bad idea.

The problem is not that he doesn’t know how to cook. Viktor does, and Yuuri knows it. He actually fancies himself a very good cook, and living alone since he was sixteen inevitably gave him a sense of how to make dinner for himself. He can manage simple dishes, as well as a few more intricate ones. Viktor is an expert as “quick-and-easy” cooking, and can pull it off with little effort.

His kitchen is well-stocked with all of the most necessary ingredients. (when Yuuri first arrived in Russia, Viktor’s kitchen was in a steady state of decay; a year abroad had done nothing for the state of his food cabinets, which Viktor hadn’t thought to clean out before leaving. Viktor’s kitchen, like the rest of his apartment, was perfectly suited to a bachelor. This was quickly rectified.) Viktor’s stove is in excellent condition, far more high-tech than the one Yuuri was used to back at his family home. Even his garbage disposal operated with the sort of frightening precision he’d come to expect of Viktor’s apartment, and Viktor in general.

Viktor’s cooking skills are not the problem. His kitchen is not the problem.

The real problem with Viktor in the kitchen is how… distracted he gets.

They’re halfway through the first Lord of the Rings movie, with Yuuri steadily dozing off at Viktor’s side, when his fiance’s languid posture goes stiff. “Did I leave the stove on?”

Suddenly the smell of burning that had been lingering at the back of Yuuri’s consciousness makes a lot more sense. “Oh god,” he says, and Viktor is already off of the couch and rushing towards their inevitably charred chicken and rice.

The next time, Viktor is lured into the shower by Yuuri. (More accurately: Yuuri is taking a shower, and Viktor joins him without being told within the first two minutes.) They stay in there for half an hour, and only come out when Yuuri’s fingertips have gone wrinkled and the stench of smoke infiltrates their bathroom isolation.

“Oops,” says Viktor, poking at the blackened remains of what Yuuri is pretty sure was salmon.

Yuuri doesn’t draw the line until Viktor sets off the apartment fire alarm for the third time in a month. It’s over a frozen pizza, of all things. Setting frozen pizza on fire should not be an easy feat to accomplish, but somehow Viktor manages.

“I… got distracted?” is Viktor’s explanation to the firefighter, past a charming but unmistakably nervous smile. Yuuri is just happy that he doesn’t explain _what_ distracted him, though he’s afraid their conspicuous appearances (hair mussed abysmally, with Viktor shirtless and Yuuri wearing sweatpants inside out) says enough. When they’re finally allowed back up to their apartment, there’s no way for Yuuri to ignore how blasé his fiance appears about the entire thing.

There are a lot of words to describe Viktor. Careless isn’t one of them.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says slowly, “if you want me to make dinner from now on, I’m okay with that.”

“I don’t want you to,” is Viktor’s immediate reply.

Yuuri might be able to believe that, were it not for the strange enunciation of Viktor’s denial -- the hasty way he rushes out the word _“you”_ , as if it doesn’t blend with the rest of the sentence on his tongue. By this point Yuuri has become well-versed in Viktor, in all his subtleties and words unvoiced. It isn’t hard to figure out what he really means, simply by removing the one word from the sentence that doesn’t fit.

“You love my cooking. I’d be happy to step up to the plate more often. You don’t have to --”

“I want to make dinner for you, Yuuri!” Viktor insists, crossing the room to place a hand on both of Yuuri’s elbows. He looks earnest, and only now does his agitation over the whole situation begin to shine through the cracks. “I’m trying. I am. I know how to cook.”

Yuuri knows this as well as Viktor does. He doesn’t have to wait long for the inevitable explanation; there’s a small flush on Viktor’s face as he sighs. “I just… get distracted so easily nowadays. It’s so hard to keep my attention on cooking --”

“When you have me?” Yuuri finishes. Now he’s the one blushing, and Viktor offers him a helpless smile.

“I can never look away from you.”  
There’s an easy solution to their problem. Nights become their chance to make dinner together; and despite the inevitable clash of having two culinary-minded people in the kitchen at once, it turns out to be fun. Yuuri loves cooking with Viktor. Viktor loves being able to focus on cooking. Any time his attention strays, Yuuri is there to set him back on track.

(If they allow themselves to get a bit distracted while dinner is in the oven, they never stray far from the kitchen.)

In the end, everything works out. Yuuri is glad to reaffirm that Viktor is, in fact, a very good cook.


	2. day two - beginnings/past

Viktor doesn't say much about his past.

Yuuri notices this about a week after Viktor essentially moves into his family home. He knew a lot about Viktor before he’d even come within a mile of the man; a lifetime of obsession led to Yuuri devouring every tidbit of information he could find. Magazine interviews and talk show appearances could tell him an awful lot, but Viktor was very careful in what he revealed. To Yuuri, left convinced that he knew everything there was to know about his idol, the realization that Viktor was still a well of secrets came as a shock to him.

The dawn of this revelation came with a simple sentence, on the eighth morning of Viktor’s stay in the Katsuki home. “This is amazing,” he says, sipping the soup Yuuri’s mother has made for breakfast. “My own mother never made anything like this.”

Just like that, it hits Yuuri: he knows nothing about Viktor’s parents.

He mentioned offhandedly in an interview a few years ago that he was an only child. Unlike skaters like Jean Jacques Leroy, Viktor’s parents have never been at the forefront of his skating career. All public appearances have been made with his coach since he was old and notable enough to attract public attention. Viktor never talks about his family, or his past.

Viktor Nikiforov is public property. The life of _Viktor,_ (the man, outside of the legend he has become) however, is a mystery that Yuuri realizes he only has the barest impressions of. Viktor’s past is as tangible to him as ghosts in a fog. Suddenly being hit with the fact that he does not know as much about his idol as he thought is shocking.

He doesn’t ask, however, until months later. They are in a hotel room in Barcelona and they have just finished tearing down any physical boundaries between them. There is nothing left but bare limbs, twined together in bed as they furiously resist the idea of ever letting go. It is in this moment of foggy tranquility that Yuuri speaks.

“Viktor? What was your past like?”

Viktor doesn’t startle; he doesn’t flinch. Yuuri knows better than to think this means his words have had no impact. His breath catches in his chest for a split-second, but then he laughs softly and turns his head to look at him. “That’s sudden.”

“You never talk about it. You know all about my family, and I don’t know a thing about yours.”

A small smile pulls at Viktor’s lips, but it isn’t the warm one that Yuuri has become accustomed to. This is tired, brittle, and makes Viktor look much older than he actually is. “I don’t live in the past,” he mutters. “You know that. Some things aren’t worth looking back at.”

“I want you to be able to share with me.”

“I will,” promises Viktor. “It’s not that I feel like I can’t. It isn’t that I don’t want to. I just…”

“Don’t,” Yuuri finishes, and Viktor closes his eyes in acquiescence.

He understands. When he presses his lip to Viktor’s collarbone, he imagines his lips burn acceptance into his skin, searing there like a hot-white scar. He hopes Viktor can feel it too.

(If given the chance, he would lather every one of Viktor’s carefully concealed scars in kisses and affection, because that is nothing less than what Viktor deserves. He could love every bit of him, should Viktor ever lay himself bare for his eyes.)

“The past is like a well. You look too far, and you’ll fall down.” Viktor sighs, licking his lips and closing his eyes. “Everything becomes the past, eventually. I don’t like looking back. I prefer to start things than end them.”

“That's what life is, isn’t it?” says Yuuri. “New beginning after new beginning. That’s what makes it so great to be alive.”

When Viktor’s eyes flick towards him, moonlight streaming through the window reveals his melancholy mixed with something unbearably fond. “Things end too.”

Things like Yuuri’s skating career -- only to be revitalized by a breath of fresh, icy air, electric blue eyes and energy he never could have dreamed of. If Yuuri’s first Grand Prix Final hadn’t come to the end it did, he never would have began anything with Viktor. You can never predict what a new beginning will bring, and he decides that makes endings okay.

“Only to make room for something new,” Yuuri says, and leans up to kiss Viktor’s lips.


	3. day three - skating

There is an electricity to Viktor on the ice.

He moves with a sort of fluid, effortless grace that makes onlookers question if he is even human. It’s a valid concern -- with an endless amount of stamina and a teasing figure to rival gravity itself, he strikes the figure of Oberon over a human king. Indeed, there is nothing that is not magical about Viktor on the ice. At once onlookers can understand how the ruler of the faeries can entrance, can captivate and lure the unsuspecting into fairy rings for eternity. It is the perfect honey trap, and Viktor is the beautiful face behind it.

The fairy king is beautiful, and he is dangerous. He alternates between the roles of innocent maiden and sultry seducer. The ice is his own siren spell, and no matter what he skates, the audience is left entranced.

Not a soul is immune -- from the most ardent Nikiforov admire down to ambitious challenger Yuri Plisetsky, they all have felt Viktor’s magic in it’s purest form. When Viktor skates, the rest of the world stops. When Viktor skates, he is the world.

The fairy king leaps and twirls around his ring for an adoring audience, and the magic he weaves leaves onlookers breathless. Viktor on the ice is an entity all of his own -- one anyone would be hard-pressed to tear their eyes from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so short?? so short. i don't usually post short things but, believe it or not, i meant for all of these oneshots to be this length. they just... write themselves, i guess!
> 
> oberon is the king of the fairies in shakespeare's "a midsummer night's dream"!


	4. day four - family/friends

“Technically,” says Chris, “I did nothing.”

Yurio stares at him for a long moment, and wonders whether he's trying to justify the ordeal to him, Viktor, or himself.

He's pretty sure it's the third option -- mostly because Chris has barely spared him two glances since he and Viktor stumbled through the door, and Viktor is pretty much on another planet right now. He isn't unconscious, but he’s pretty damn close; his head is lolling against his shoulder as he lists to the side in a way that will definitely make his back ache later. He looks totally out of it. Yurio can't help but be a little impressed that he's still holding himself up in his condition.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, nudging Viktor with his foot. A small grunt is earned for his trouble, followed by Viktor tilting dangerously to the left. He is righted by Chris before he can topple over entirely, and settles back on his feet with a huff. Yurio raises an eyebrow.

“We went out for a drink,” Chris says, at the same time Viktor volunteers, “ _Vodka_ happened.”

“And how did the _black eye_ happen?” Yurio snarls, peering at the bruise steadily forming against Viktor’s alabaster skin. Yakov is going to _kill_ him tomorrow, and he's going to deserve it.

“Stairs.” Viktor’s lips purse into a childish pout. “I don't like stairs.”

“Stairs don't like him back,” says Chris.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Yurio decides that this is not something he feels like dealing with at midnight on a Wednesday. He doesn't know what’s going on in Viktor’s personal life, but he should be able to keep it off the rink.

Though, admittedly, dating the same person you're supposed to be coaching makes that pretty hard. He has his own opinions about all of _that_ , but as long as it doesn’t interfere with anyone’s skating he’s willing to tolerate all of their lovey-dovey crap. What he’s not willing to put up with is picking up the pieces of a drunken Viktor after a lover’s spat.

“You have to call your boyfriend,” he says, crossing his arms at the drunken man in front of him. “Both of you are piss-drunk. How’d you get here, anyway? If you drove, I swear --”

“We took a taxi,” Chris says, deftly catching Viktor under one arm as the man flops bonelessly against him with a bereaved groan. Yurio isn't sure if the way he supports Viktor with what appears to be no effort is impressive or pathetic. Probably both. “Viktor wanted to let his frustrations out on the ice.”

“No skating drunk.” It's Yakov’s rule, and Yurio only ever cares about Yakov’s rules as long as they're useful to him, but this is a sensible one. Viktor’s the reason the rule had to be instated in the first place. Yurio has seen drunk skating accidents -- they're rarely pretty, and mostly involve lots of blood and regret. He'll pass on that tonight, thanks. “Go let out your frustrations in a damn toilet. Stop being an idiot and get out of here.”

He knows Yuuri is worried, because he's sent him no less than four texts asking if he's heard from Viktor. Now Yurio supposes he can finally give him some good news -- if _“your pet idiot’s drunk as shit and trying to strap glorified knives to his feet”_ can be considered good.

“I’m calling your boyfriend to take you home,” he says to Viktor, ignoring the other man’s vehement moan of protest. “And you --” He points at Chris, falters, and suddenly wishes he had Chris’s boyfriend’s number as well, just for this moment. “Don’t let him skate,” is all he finally says, “or else I’ll kick both your asses.”

Sometime in between calling Yuuri and Yuuri getting here, Viktor does wind up skating. He faceplants on the ice, wins a solid bruise on his jaw, and is carted off slurring apologies into the crook of Yuuri’s neck between love bites. Yurio feels nauseous… but not as sick as he’s sure Viktor’s going to feel later on.

The next day, he shows up at Viktor’s apartment at seven in the morning. The blackmail material he gets of Viktor Nikiforov hugging a toilet and groaning makes all the trouble of the night before worth it.


	5. day five - victory

After a while, winning begins to lose its meaning to Viktor.

The thought that he's getting jaded occurs to him more than once; he laughs, but doesn't reject it outright. In truth, maybe he is growing too old for victory to feel like anything more than the same old story. It's expected, by this point. It's lost it’s taste over time, like eating the same flavor of ice cream over and over until your tongue is numb and the flavor is nothing more than a dulled rush of sugar. He still loves winning, but he doesn't crave it in the way he used to.

Viktor tells himself that his competitive spirit is still alive -- somewhere, deep down. As another gold medal is placed around his neck, he finds himself unconvinced.

(Later, he decides that there are no medals that shine as brightly as two midnight brown eyes and a shy smile as warm as the sun. Yuuri, he decides, is his greatest victory of all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week late? Don't care. I'm finishing these.


	6. day six - emotions

When Viktor feels, he feels intensely.

He still holds memories, locked away in a tiny, secret chest in his mind. Every so often he will take them out and play them over, like a vivid home movie. He does not do this often. Though the memories have become worn with age now, their colors dulled and sharp edges blunted, he is always swept off his feet by the sheer rush of emotion he feels with each one.

The emotions are fervid, almost breathtaking in their intensity. They catch him like a physical blow to the chest; he will find himself staring into space for hours, lost within them. They are, he thinks, the closest he can get to the past. What's left behind in the present day rings all too real in his head.

Stepping onto the ice for the first time, wobbling in a pair of hand-me-down skates. _Elation --_ the utter rush of ecstasy and joy that comes when you find something that it yours.

Spinning through the air in a jump Yakov does not want him to make, and landing it perfectly despite his age and inexperience. _Pride,_ in its purest form -- smug, and a bit unforgiving.

Broken shards of glass digging into the palms of his hands as hot tears run down his cheeks, a shattered mirror standing at his side. _Despair and fury,_ in a deadly cocktail, mixed with the hopelessness of not knowing where to go from here.

Standing on the highest podium, gold glinting around his neck as he stares into a sea of flashing cameras. Undiluted _victoriousness,_ and his body trembles with its force.

Viktor has always felt too intimately, too deeply, with every fiber of his being. He is good at pretending he doesn't care when he needs too, but the truth is, he always does -- too much.

As the plane takes off from the runway, leaving Russia far below, Viktor decides that he feels no fear at all. There is no draining uncertainty to deep into his limbs, no panic seizing him at the realization that he doesn't know what will happen from here. There is only hope, a burning warmth in his chest, and the intense emotion of love guiding him all the way to a tiny island in the middle of the sea.


	7. day seven - free day

“So,” says Yuuri, “this is awkward.”

Viktor glances around the very crowded arena looking down on the ice. Most eyes are on him. Viktor isn't sure what's more uncomfortable; the chilled breeze on the back of his bare thighs, or the hundreds of people in the stands, all currently witnessing him without a scrap of clothing on. _“Well,”_ he begins, but cuts off when Yuuri shoots him a Look. “Yes,” Viktor amends. “It is awkward.”

Yuuri is fidgeting in his spot like he's the one not wearing clothes in front of a massive audience -- which is ridiculous, because he's fully clothed (though with the way that costume hugs his curves it's hard to tell -- Viktor licks his lips) while Viktor doesn't even have a towel to preserve his modesty.

There are a lot of things to do in this situation. Eight out of ten involve some form of shrinking into a ball and crying. Seven out of ten involve screaming. Six out of ten end in someone, usually Viktor’s, death. Viktor looks around at the situation he's gotten himself into and decides to roll with it.

“Yuuri,” he says, spreading his arms. “I love you.”

“What?!”

“My heart is yours.”

“You're very naked right now.”

“All of this is yours!” Viktor gestures at his body, and somewhere in the crowd he hears a woman shriek. Out of delight, no doubt. He doesn't take his eyes off of Yuuri, who is gaping like a fish out of water and doesn't seem to know what to say -- or if he should say anything at all. His face has gone a funny shade of tomato, and he looks ready to melt into a puddle on the spot. He's almost vibrating with the sheer force of his anxiety, but he still gapes at Viktor as if _he's_ the unbelieveable one here.

“You stripped naked and revealed yourself to an entire skating rink -- to profess your love for me?”

“Yes!” Viktor replies cheerily. “How's that for dramatic effect?”

“V- Viktor,” Yuuri says. As he holds up a hand, his gold band glints. “We’re _engaged_.”

Viktor just grins at him, as if this is the best news he's ever heard. Then he makes the mistake of trying to skate towards Yuuri, which the other man is definitely not having, because he lets out a small screech and scrambles off the ice as fast as his shattered nerves will allow.

Viktor is left completely naked in front of several hundred people, and his day is honestly made. “I love you, Yuuri!” he calls again, and then waves towards the crowd.

Viktor Nikiforov possesses many things, but a sense of shame is not one of them.


End file.
